


Whispers In The Dark

by alkjira



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Canon-Typical Violence, Happy Ending, Kidnapping, M/M, Mutual Pining, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Not Actually Unrequited Love, POV Alternating, Post-Battle of Five Armies, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-12
Updated: 2015-05-17
Packaged: 2018-03-30 05:38:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3924910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alkjira/pseuds/alkjira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo agreed to stay in Erebor during the winter because... well, to be entirely honest because of Thorin. </p><p>He'd like to... he'd like a lot of things.<br/>But at the very least Bilbo would like to find his way back to the friendship he had with Thorin before everything got all twisted up.</p><p>However not everyone wants to be Thorin's friend, and not everyone is happy with how Thorin has been ruling Erebor, and most importantly for Bilbo's fate; not everyone is as blind as Bilbo. Which is why certain people decide that kidnapping the King's Hobbit to teach said King a lesson is a brilliant plan indeed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> AU as of BoFA
> 
> Has no actual rape, but non-consensual touching from a particular OC happens as well as bad language and possibly triggering situations (later chapters, I will warn again as needed)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Bilbo… had come to realise that he’d not mind staying in Erebor._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter: angst, pining, kidnapping and drugging.
> 
> If I miss any triggers/tags that you feel are needed just poke me.
> 
> (now with added art by [drakyrna-art.tumblr.com/](http://drakyrna-art.tumblr.com/))

The day started like any other. Bilbo woke up, as always a little disoriented since there were no windows in his chambers.  
  
No windows meant no sunlight, which meant that until he’d woken up enough to check the large sandglass on his side table there was no way for him to tell how much time had passed since he went to bed.  
  
Of course, every now and again he forgot to turn the blasted thing before settling in for the night. But he was getting better and better at remembering, likely because forgetting led to having to pick between not knowing, or getting out of bed, then going outside his rooms, all the way to the end of the hallway, up three flights of stairs, and then out to the balconies by the outer walls to try and figure out what time it was based on the position of the sun or the moon – if either of the two was indeed up - and then going _all_ the way back inside to his bed again on the occasions when it was much too early to be out of bed.  
  
In other words, it was not exactly optimal and Bilbo did appreciate the sandglass aside from the small issue of it not turning itself over.  
  
He had no idea how Dwarfs managed as they didn’t seem to have the same problem. Or if they had, no one was admitting it to him. He would not be surprised if this turned out to be the case.  
  
Once, the level of emptiness in Bilbo’s stomach would have been able to help him tell the time, and fairly accurately at that, but even though it had been almost three whole months since their arrival to Erebor, Bilbo did not get hungry as often and regularly as he once had.  
  
On the road you were lucky if you got three meals a day. Seven was just a fantasy, and Bilbo’s stomach had gotten used to that, and it _still_ hadn’t realised that it was somewhat easier to get food now that they were staying in Erebor. So while he usually woke up in the mood to eat something he didn’t really know if he was first breakfast hungry, or second breakfast, or if he’d missed even more meals or if he simply was in the mood for a midnight snack. Still, that was sure to sort itself out with time.  
  
But even so, if there was one thing Bilbo would change about Erebor it would probably be the absence of sunlight in his rooms.

He was fine with the endless corridors, and the lack of flowers and growing things didn’t really bother him as such. It wasn’t like he tended to have a lot of plants inside either. And on those occasions when the walls started to creep a little too close he could easily make a trip down to Dale or just take a small walk outside the gates, or go out onto the battlements – even if Thorin’s expression always got a little more pinched than normal if he saw Bilbo going up there.  
  
It didn’t seem to matter how many time Bilbo explained that he forgave Thorin for threatening to throw him off the wall – in fact each time he brought up the subject it only seemed to make Thorin more withdrawn, so eventually Bilbo had stopped mentioning it at all.  
  
However he still went to the battlements, because the air up there was always crisp and the view of Dale being rebuilt was comforting, and the landscape surrounding Erebor was very much stunning now that it had finally begun to recover from the Dragon, as well as the battle against Azog.  
  
Stretching and yawning Bilbo looked to his sandglass and concluded that enough hours had passed for it to actually be morning.

Feeling that breakfast could wait a little Bilbo instead made his way to the battlements directly after getting dressed. Warmly dressed to be precise, because once winter had arrived to Erebor the temperature had fallen and so had the snow. And unlike the temperature the snow had continued to fall, and fall and fall.  
  
Some days Bilbo thought that it’d not stop until the layers of snow would have grown as thick as the mountain was tall. Or at least until he could have stepped right off the battlements and out onto the snow. No falling whatsoever.  
  
Maybe then Thorin would stop frowning at him when he- but no, that wasn’t something he cared to think about this morning.  
  
Thankfully the snow and cold outside wasn’t at all like the snow and cold at the peaks of the Misty Mountains; where the wind had seemed to have claws and the snow had bitten at Bilbo’s feet when he’d been forced to wade through it. That had been the first time Bilbo had ever seen that much snow at once, and their meeting had _not_ been one of mutual enjoyment to say the least.  
  
This second meeting was much more pleasant. The wind didn’t claw at him as much as it pinched his cheeks in a fairly cheerful manner, and the snow only nibbled. And perhaps most importantly; knowing that he could get away from the white coldness whenever he so wanted - and go back inside the mountain where it was still agreeably warm, with blankets and furs to make it even warmer, perhaps something hot to drink – this did a lot to soften Bilbo’s disposition towards the never ending whiteness.  
  
As Bilbo begun to walk up the steps that would take him to the battlements he spared a thought to hope that the two young princes would _not_ be joining him today. He had a vague recollection that they had planned to do something with Dwalin, the exact nature of what this activity would entail had slipped his mind, but perhaps he would have a quiet morning to himself.  
  
It wasn’t that he wanted to _avoid_ Fíli and Kíli, but they were a little too fond of pelting him with snowballs when they were outside together, and he didn’t really have the heart to scold them for it.  
  
That they still had the same thirst for play and fun as when they’d been throwing his plates around was a blessing and something to be cherished, and he hoped they’d never lose this thirst for life and joy. Though if they’d stop throwing things in his general vicinity he’d not complain overly much.  
  
The lads had both come much too close to death during the battle against Azog and his army. Kíli still had a slight limp that hopefully would go away with time; not that it seemed to bother him much as he could still use bow and sword just as well as before, but Fíli would always have a deep scar running down the left side of his face; a memory courtesy of an Orcish blade that got a little too close.  
  
Three months after the battle and it was still very red and fearsome looking, and every time he laid eyes on it something in Bilbo’s stomach twinged at the reminder that if the Orc had been a little luckier they’d all be that much poorer for it. Same with Kíli’s leg.  
  
Thorin carried all his scars beneath his clothes, but Bilbo knew that amongst others there’d be a large, twisting red mark stretching out on the Dwarf’s right side, the only thing left from the wound they had all feared would be the one to end his life. If Fíli and Kíli had come uncomfortably close to death then Thorin had been so very, very close to meeting it face to face. Not only due to the wound, but also to the fever that had surged through his body for the week after the end of the battle.  
  
He’d been confined to bed by Óin for an entire month and it was only now in the last few weeks that he seemed to be back to his normal self again. Or, perhaps not exactly his normal self, if Bilbo could be so bold to make claim that he knew Thorin that well. He was a little more quiet, a little more withdrawn, but surely that could be expected after… what had happened.  
  
Although Thorin and the boys were _fine_ Bilbo very much felt the possibility of another fate echo inside himself whenever he thought about the battle and he shivered for more than one reason as he walked out onto the fresh inch high layer of snow covering the grey stone of the battlements.

“If you are cold, perhaps you should hurry back inside,” Thorin said from Bilbo’s left, and the Hobbit startled a little at the unexpected suggestion, from the _very_ unexpected company.

Because of Thorin’s distaste for his own actions during the time just before the battle it was rare for him to ever visit the battlements, even more so when Bilbo was to be found there and Thorin knew very well that Bilbo preferred to come here in the mornings. Still, there he was, leaning against the railing, looking as handsome as ever in his dark blue cloak and with tiny snowflakes dotted in his hair.  
  
Bilbo’s small surprised-induced flinch made the pinched expression spread out into a thundercloud on Thorin’s brow and Bilbo had to put considerable effort into stopping the sigh that wanted to burst out of his chest.  
  
“I’ll be going inside soon anyway,” Bilbo said, making sure to smile. “I’ve not even had breakfast yet.” Not that smiling seemed to help as Thorin just nodded curtly before pushing away from the railings. He walked past Bilbo with no further acknowledging beyond a flick of his eyes, robes and cloak flaring out behind him as he stalked back inside Erebor. There was still the barest hint of a limp in his step, not even noticeable to someone who did not know him.  
  
Bilbo thought about asking him to stay but held his tongue. Every other time he’d spoken with Thorin as of late it had ended as an argument, Bilbo didn’t want to start his day with an argument.  
  
If Thorin harboured the idea that Bilbo was somehow afraid of once more being held over the wrong side of the wall he could just stuff that notion in a chest and lock it away in a dungeon somewhere never to be seen again.  
  
Bilbo would admit to having been scared at the _time_ , of course, but that had been more related to the expression on Thorin’s face than anything else. There had been nothing left of the Dwarf Bilbo knew on Thorin’s face that day. The honourable, noble king Bilbo had gotten to know over the months since he left Hobbiton had been replaced by a greedy stranger with the same features but nothing of his spirit.  
  
With the clarity of hindsight it had not been a sudden change, instead a slow and subtle one that had started as early as their passage through Mirkwood. And it had definitely been present on the day they’d all first ventured into Erebor after the front gates had been destroyed by Smaug.  
  
Bilbo had first thought the emotions on Thorin’s face to be happiness and satisfaction over a home regained, mixed with worry that Smaug was not yet dead, but there had also been greed and paranoia, heralding the worsening of his sickness.  
  
When Bilbo had gone to see Thorin after the battle he had feared that the same stranger would be the one looking at him from behind Thorin’s blue eyes, but what he had found was his friend.  
  
Thorin’s face had been pale and his eyes had been lined with red and filled with regret and pain. Of the greed there’d been no trace, and there had been none to be found since either.  
  
Bilbo had been so relieved after their reconciliation that he’d cried for hours after leaving Thorin to sleep and get better. Because he would get better, Bilbo had not been able to accept any other alternative and he’d never been so relieved to be right.  
  
Very soon after the battle, Bard had sent Thorin the Arkenstone as a sign of his will to see peace be done between their people and though Bilbo wouldn’t care to admit it he had donned his ring and lurked outside Thorin’s tent, peering through a slit in the tent cloth to see what Thorin’s reaction would be upon being offered what he’d wanted for so long. He would finally get back what had first been lost and then stolen from him, by Bilbo no less.  
  
Bilbo had expected contentment, and had _hoped_ that it wouldn’t again lead to an odd glow starting in Thorin’s eyes. However he had not been prepared for Thorin looking at the stone as if it was a Goblin turd, and not for him to hold it as gingerly as if it was a burning coal. The trembling of his hand could have been only his fever… but… Bilbo rather thought not.  
  
Bilbo had not seen the Arkenstone since that day, and when he’d hesitantly asked Balin the old Dwarf had told him that Thorin had given it to him.  
  
“For safe-keeping,” Balin had said, as if it was somehow normal to hide away what once had been the most valued item in all of Erebor. The King’s Jewel. The entire reason why Bilbo had been included in the Company as a burglar.  
  
According to Balin, Thorin had also instructed Balin to make sure that the people of Dale got their fair share of the treasure, paid out as Bard saw fit, and Bilbo had no reason to doubt Balin’s word.  
  
He did not speak to Thorin about it though, because even after Thorin recovered the Arkenstone became another thing that Bilbo and Thorin did not talk about.  
  
Bilbo had tried and tried again to apologise for taking it and keeping it in the first place, but on those occasions when he brought it up Thorin had a tendency to remember that he urgently needed to be somewhere else, while looking upset enough that Bilbo didn’t have the heart to call him on the lie.  
  
He probably should have done it when Thorin was still in bed, unable to go anywhere, but… he hadn’t wanted to bring it up. Thorin’s words to him after the battle seemed to mean that all was forgiven and Bilbo hadn’t wanted to do anything that might ruin it. Instead they’d talked about other things. Safe things.  
  
Still, it was with no little relief Bilbo saw the absence of the stone on Erebor’s throne on the day when Thorin finally had grown strong enough to take his rightful place as king and ruler of the Lonely Mountain. Dáin had remained in Erebor with his soldiers, and together he and Fíli had put in motion what needed to be done to once again make Erebor the home of Dwarfs once more, instead of that of a Dragon.  
  
Now as Bilbo entered Erebor’s main hall, still brushing the snow off his hair and shoulders, the room that greeted him held surprisingly few traces of Smaug’s stay in Erebor.  
  
Some parts of the city had been left almost completely untouched, the main hall amongst them, but more importantly also most of the living quarters which had been a blessing indeed as it neatly solved the issue of where everyone was supposed to live. And yes, that included not only Dáin and his troops, but the Men from Lake-town as it was impossible for them to rebuild Dale quickly enough to make it a comfortable place to spend the winter.  
  
Not all of Dáin’s soldiers had stayed though, because on the first day when Thorin managed to leave his bed Dáin had embraced his cousin warmly and declared that it was time for him to return to the Iron Hills.

“I’ll arrange for supplies of all kinds to be sent regularly,” Dáin had promised his cousin. “And when spring comes I’ll be back again. But for now there are the dead and their families to consider and I must return to my people and my own family. If I’m gone for much bloody longer I’m sure someone, and knowing my wife it’ll be her, will start a rebellion and I’ve got better things to do.”  
  
The relationship between Thorin and Dáin left Bilbo a little confused. Dáin had refused to join Thorin’s quest, but had later brought an army on Thorin’s bidding. He also seemed genuinely pleased with Thorin’s recovery, despite that he could have made a claim on the throne of Erebor if Thorin had… had not recovered.  
  
Fíli and Kíli would not have been in any shape to argue with the Dwarf in charge of the army.

And Thorin seemed to like Dáin well enough, but he also didn’t seem to be sorry to see him go. It was all very confusing, but Bilbo didn’t ask Thorin to explain it because he felt that it was yet another thing that wasn’t his business.  
  
However the more things left unsaid and unasked between him and Thorin, the more it felt to Bilbo like he was losing his friend.  
  
And he could only blame himself. In the last couple of weeks it might even have been so that Bilbo had taken to avoid Thorin. Sometimes. Slightly. A little.  
  
Even though they were friends once again, Bilbo was still afraid of getting the question of why he was staying, or worse, when exactly he was planning on _leaving_ , accompanied by an impatient look like the ones Thorin had given him at the start of their journey.

After the battle Gandalf had offered to return for Bilbo in a month’s time, when… _things_ , would be settled one way or another, but Bilbo had asked him to come back in the spring when the travel weather would be better.

If he would be going.

Bilbo… had come to realise that he’d not mind staying in Erebor.  
  
To mention just a few reasons; the library had been another section of Erebor that had gone mostly unscathed, and there were a great many books in Common in it that Bilbo wanted to read. And it was amazing to see the repairs being done all around the mountain. Each and every day it seemed like something corrected itself, almost by magic, though that was a little unfair on the Dwarfs working very hard to restore Erebor to former glory. But they _were_ indeed that skilled; making their work look as if a Wizard had just asked the floors, walls, statues, and so on, to fix themselves.

The Dwarfs in question weren’t just the members of Thorin’s Company. Some of Dáin’s soldiers had stayed even though Dáin had returned to the Iron Hills. And not long after his departure more Dwarfs arrived from the Iron Hills, mostly workers this time, instead of soldiers.  
  
Some had once lived in Erebor, or their families had, and some merely wished to ask for permission to settle and create a new home for themselves, something that Thorin always granted.  
  
A very small number of noble Dwarfs had arrived, and Bilbo was still trying to parse what exactly being a Dwarven noble meant. A higher chance of having a sour disposition and turning your nose up at things, that was as far as Bilbo had gotten, and even that was a little blurry around the edges as he’d found out that Dwalin and Balin were nobles, as well as Dáin and Thorin, and Fíli and Kíli.

At any rate, another reasons to stay was to see Thorin’s people from Ered Luin return to their rightful home. At the moment they were led by his sister Dís, and since they had a much longer journey than those arriving from the Iron Hills it would be at least another month or two before any caravans from the Blue Mountains would arrive, and this despite how ravens had been sent immediately after the end of the battle.  
  
Perhaps it would even be longer than a couple of months as crossing the Misty Mountains at the height of winter was something only recommended by fools.  
  
Bilbo really wanted to see them return to their home, and he wanted to meet Thorin’s sister; Fíli’ and Kíli’s mother, and he wanted to stay long enough that he got to see an even truer version of what Erebor had been before the arrival of Smaug. He’d wanted to see the Erebor of old ever since Balin had told the story about the Dragons arrival.  
  
He wanted to see Dale too, and see what sort of King Bard would be. At least if he didn’t just decide to take his children and run away to a place where no one wanted to put a crown on his head.  
  
But Bilbo’s curiosity aside, there were other reasons why he was considering to remain in Erebor. Thirteen of them to be precise, and out of his friends, Thorin was perhaps the most important reason.  
  
It was… _possible_ , that Bilbo might care a little more for Thorin than was strictly friendly. Which was silly of him and he was very much aware that it was indeed silly, but what was a Hobbit to do?  
  
Thorin was… Thorin. And apparently a Thorin was exactly what Bilbo had been looking for all along, even if he hadn’t known the specifics of it while he’d been turning down unwanted courting proposals from Sandydowns and Proudfoots and accepting that it was likely he’d spend the rest of his life alone.  
  
To go back to the Shire would mean that he’d not only be alone, he’d also be _lonely_ as he’d have people to miss. It would also mean that he might never see Thorin again, as Thorin was a king now, and kings couldn’t just stop by for tea when they wanted to. _If_ they wanted to.  
  
And a life entirely without Thorin… that wasn’t something Bilbo was prepared to risk just yet. If ever. No, thank you, he preferred to be silly in Erebor compared to being entirely miserable in the Shire.

And lack of windows aside, he’d begun to feel rather comfortable in Erebor. And the library in particular was a place where Bilbo could happily spend hours upon hours in. Even if something of its charm had been lost when unfamiliar Dwarfs had also started to frequent the many halls filled from floor to ceiling with scripts and books. Not because Bilbo minded a little company but because most of them looked at him as if he would _steal_ the books.

"I'm not sure what they've been told about my skill as a burglar, but I'd like to see anyone managing to walk out with a library stuffed in their pocket,” Bilbo had complained to Bofur.

"Don't say that so Nori'll hear you," Bofur had smiled. "He might just take it as a challenge."

"But why do they look at me like that?"

"There're a lot of books in Khuzdul in the library."

"And?"

"Well, apart from Bifur having a wee bit of trouble with Common, we’re not supposed to speak Khuzdul at all around outsiders.” Bofur had twitched a little as he’d realised just what he’d said. “Not that you aren't just as good as any of our number, but tradition, you understand?"  
  
And Bilbo did understand. Bofur was as sweet and friendly as anyone Bilbo had ever known, but even to him there was a difference between Bilbo and the others in the mountain. It didn’t matter that he’d helped reclaim Erebor. He would never be a Dwarf and so he would always be different.  
  
And there was no way a Dwarven King would ever be able to be anything more than friends with an ‘outsider’. A _Halfling_. It just wouldn’t work. Bilbo _was_ happy that he was friends with Thorin once again. But part of him still wanted more. Or at least he wanted for them to go back to being the sort of friends they’d been while they’d been staying with Beorn. The sort that could exchange more than a few words with each other without carefully guarding their words for fear of saying something wrong.  
  
Bilbo sighed. The sort that had stayed up entirely too late talking even though they should catch what little sleep they could get before needing to leave Beorn’s home on the morrow, and when they’d finally retired for the night Thorin had insisted on Bilbo taking his cloak as a blanket. Bilbo had insisted that they’d share, and despite the bed being mostly hay that had been one of the best nights Bilbo could ever remember.  
  
He hadn’t even touched Thorin, not beyond their arms just barely brushing, but it had been so incredibly lovely nonetheless...  
  
Suddenly Bilbo wasn’t feeling very hungry anymore, and from the main hall it wasn’t a very long walk to the libraries, so he went there instead of seeking out his breakfast. He’d get breakfast later. There was no hurry.  
  
Ignoring that it was far from the first time he’d told himself this without actually going to get breakfast later Bilbo opened one of the large doors and stepped into an entirely quiet room. Not even Ori appeared to be around and the sound of the door closing behind Bilbo seemed to be unusually loud.  
  
It was rather early so Ori would likely be around later, after he’d finished breakfast. But for now…  
  
Bilbo squirmed out of his thick outer garments and hung them neatly over the back of a chair.  
  
For now he’d enjoy the peace and quiet, and then he’d go and find something to eat, and then-

“Shhh,” came a soft voice as a hand clamped itself in front of his mouth and a strong arm wrapped itself around his chest. “No reason t' be alarmed.”  
  
Bilbo did not agree at all with that statement. “MMMPH!”  
  
“Shut it,” another voice ordered. “Or something unfortunate will happen.”

Bilbo’s hands, which had been flailing, were caught, and something that felt very sharp was pressed to the palm of his right hand.  
  
“That’d be a knife,” the same person who’d just spoken growled, and Bilbo froze.  
  
“Put it away,” a _third_ voice said, and by the Valar, for a seemingly empty library there was a lot of people here. Nori and Dwalin would despair over his abilities to-  
  
“Do you want to have him scream then?”  
  
“Just, put the knife away and put him on the table or something so we can do this. The walls’re thick and no one’s here. Go watch the door so it stays that way.”  
  
An annoying thing about being a Hobbit amongst Dwarfs was that they were always bigger and stronger than him, so when he was picked up like he weighed nothing there was very little Bilbo could do to stop it.  
  
“Never mind the table, just tip him back. D’ya have the bottle?”  
  
“Here.”  
  
“Right, cover up his eyes then.” And the palm that had been over his mouth moved up, and why didn’t they want him to see- what were they-  
  
“What are you-“ Bilbo tried to ask once he realised that he could speak again, but he was already being tipped backwards and big fingers was pinching his nose and the thought occurred to Bilbo that he probably _should_ scream, but he didn’t have the chance before someone dripped something into his mouth, and before he could manage to spit Bilbo’s jaws were clamped shut but yet another big hand.  
  
“Swallow,” the angriest of the three voices commanded as Bilbo squirmed against the hands holding him. “I’m not letting go of your nose until you do, and I don’t think you know how to breathe with your ears, Halfling.”

Whatever it was that they’d poured into his mouth Bilbo felt that swallowing was a really bad idea, but eventually the choice was taken from him as his traitorous body seemed to prefer to swallow before suffocating.  
  
“Right, I felt his throat move. Le’go of his nose.”  
  
Bilbo had not managed to suck in more than a couple of lungfuls of lovely, lovely air before everything turned even darker than the hand covering his eyes was to blame for.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Curling up into an even smaller, tighter ball made Bilbo realise that something was amiss. He shouldn’t be able to feel as much as he did of the stone below. He shouldn’t- He- What had happened to his clothes?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heya peeps  
> The warnings basically all apply to this chapter. We've got some bad touching, bad language, continuation of the non-con drugging, and Bilbo generally not being in a good shape. Also non-graphic violence, but nothing worse than what's in the films.

"Mmmmrph,” Bilbo moaned as he tried to stretch but found himself unable to. His head ached dully and felt awfully fuzzy, and that wasn’t the only part of him that did.  
  
Squirming and twisting he managed to move enough that he could straighten his legs without something being in the way and he sighed in relief as that stopped a cramp in his left leg, but that relief was short-lived as Bilbo instinctively curled up again when he heard an unfamiliar, very displeased, voice.

"Why is he waking up? Didn't you give him the drops?"

"I did! The entire bottle, like you said. I don’t know if we dare t’give him more?"

When Bilbo’s arm was grabbed he let out a pained cry and tried to pull away. The touch hadn’t been very forceful, but still felt as if someone had jabbed him with at least three dozen needles. His skin crawled, as if there were large ants trying to burrow inside of him.

"He's definitely awake." The voice sighed. "Lucky I still put the blindfold on him, eh? Would hate to kill him just because he saw what your ugly mug look like.”

"Did you _really_ give him the stuff from the bottle?"

"Please," Bilbo managed. "Hurts."

The person holding on to him hummed consideringly, but dropped his arm.

Bilbo had just enough time to gasp as the crawling _stopped_ before he was grasped by _both_ arms and hauled up into a standing position, something his knees didn’t think that was a good idea at all, and he would have fallen if the one holding on to him hadn't tightened their grip.

"Those drops were enough to put a grown Dwarf to sleep for a day, and this one here is much smaller.”  
  
Bilbo cried out again when he was shook. Not only did it feel as if his head might decide to fall off, and the hands holding him burned and crawled and ached and-  
  
“Yeah. So why isn't it working on him? It's not even been a full day"

"Maybe it's because he's one of those hobb-whatsis."

"Hobbits," another voice said drily.

“Halfling,” someone scoffed and Bilbo was shook once more before he was all but shoved back to the ground. The impact stung, but that was nothing compared to those hands had felt like, and Bilbo curled up, hiding his face in the crook of his arm. "He seems pretty out of it. Didn’t try to run. Or-"  
  
“Sure, give him ideas, why don’t you.”  
  
“Well, _excuse_ me for-“

"Stop it. This can still work. Though it'll be a little more unpleasant for him."  
  
“Should we give him more?”  
  
“I don’t think that’s wise. Not since we don’t know what will happen.”

"So what do we do? We need to keep him for about a week, that was the deal. If he’s awake… that’s riskier. And he might remember us. What we’re going to do. Or not do as it were."  
  
Bilbo was only vaguely aware of the conversation being held over his head. The stone beneath him was cold and rough and hard, but it didn’t hurt him. He reached out and patted the ground and it didn’t burn. Safe.  
  
Curling up into an even smaller, tighter ball made Bilbo realise that something was amiss. He shouldn’t be able to feel as much as he did of the stone below. He shouldn’t- He- What had happened to his clothes? He'd had clothes before, right? Before...

"Or we could change the plan a little. He is a pretty little thing, I could-"

"None of that now, we’re sticking to what we’ve agreed to do.”  
  
“Then we’re giving him more of the drops. I’m not going to be a bloody minder. And I don’t want to get caught. Not getting paid for that am I?”  
  
“All right, the drops then. Can’t keep him tied up for a week anyway. But give him some water too.”  
  
As impatient hands grabbed him again Bilbo tried to struggle and twist away but it was so hard to avoid something he couldn’t see, and it _hurt_. The touch was wrong, wrong, _wrong_.  
  
This time when his nose were pinched shut and something poured into his mouth he swallowed right away when they told him to, anything to be left alone. And the resulting darkness was almost welcome.  
  
-  
  
“Do you have the blood? Just take a little, otherwise they’ll think it’s strange he’s not actually damaged."

Even the touch of a single finger on his skin was painful, but the cool wetness it brought with it felt soothing. However when a hand grabbed his left arse cheek and fingers slipped between his legs Bilbo whined low in his throat and tried to twist away.

There was a low chuckle. "Look at him squirm. See, he wants it he does. And he was so obedient before. I like it when they swallow."

"Shut your mouth, you dim-witted bush."

The low laughter did not at all sound pleasant. "I don't know what kind of sissy noble hired us, but I'm sure that they won't mind what they don't know. And it’s not like I’d hurt the pretty lil’ thing. Not much anyway."  
  
Bilbo keened and shuddered when his arse was squeezed in a vice-like grip, but then came the sound of a dull smack and the pain went away, and one of the people standing around him grunted and cursed.

"Don’t even. You deserved that, you idiot, what did I tell you.” There was a world of disgust in the words. “Wank if you can't keep it in your pants, if you get it on him that'll only make it look more realistic, but stop it with that disgusting talk and you don’t touch him now. It's not his fault Thorin Oakenshield is an unreasonable bastard who’s pissing people off. Or that you’re absolutely bloody repulsive."

"Oh I'm sorry to offend your _lordship_.”

"Cut that out, I‘m no more noble than you. Besides, even them asked us to _fake it._ And even if they didn’t there should be some things that you'll not do for coin."

"But I'd do it for free. Got to be a good lay if Oakenshield is shaggin’ him. You’ve seen the others that followed him. Loads of pretty faces there. Prettier than this one. And he’s a bit scrawny too. Needs fattening up. I know just the cream he could-“  
  
“You’re _not_ to touch him. That’s not part of the agreement. Come on, get out of here. We need to let that dry and then _I’ll_ see how it looks. Might have to do it again later if it just flakes off.”  
  
A door slammed shut, and in the silence that followed Bilbo tried to make sense of what was going on. Only it was so very hard to think.  
  
It seemed like all his thoughts had gotten caught in giant spider webs, and the more he tried to think the firmer he just got himself stuck.  
  
Oakenshield. That was Thorin. But Thorin and him? Shagging? They weren’t- they’d never- Not his fault? He had been taken by people wanting revenge. Revenge at Thorin. For something? But why take _him_?  
  
Oh right. If they thought- but Thorin didn’t-  
  
But they were friends. They’d been- And even if Thorin didn’t owe Bilbo anything- he would- he wouldn’t like this. Thorin would not like this.  
  
He’d not let the Trolls kill him. And he had- He wouldn’t like this. And they’d not even been friends when the Trolls had-  
  
But what did these people even want? Bilbo couldn’t _understand_. Thorin was- he was a great King.  
  
Crawling blindly until he found a corner, not even realising that since his hands were free he could easily remove the cloth covering his eyes, Bilbo pressed himself up against the walls. He didn’t really feel any safer, but it was the best he could do.  
  
Minutes or hours later when the door opened again Bilbo flinched, but all that happened was that he got a blanket thrown on him. Once he’d figured that out, the door had already been slammed shut.  
  
Shivering Bilbo tried to spread the blanket over himself, but his arms wouldn’t do what he wanted them to. After a half-dozen attempts he was more or less covered by the thick wool, and Bilbo tugged at it until it covered his head, trying to hide even though part of him knew that that wasn’t how it worked.  
  
If he fell asleep or just slid back into the darkness brought on by the strange liquid was hard to tell, but when Bilbo next surfaced everything ached, but in a new way.  
  
Now he _wanted_ to be touched. His skin ached to be touched. It itched and crawled and buzzed even worse than before and he _knew_ that if someone touched him that would go away.  
  
Except… there was someone in the room with him, and when they noticed he was awake they came over to give him water and small bits of cram and even though he could tell they were actually trying to touch him as little as possible it still hurt when they _did_ touch him. It didn't feel any better at all and Bilbo couldn’t help but let out a sob. What if everything would feel like this from now on?  
  
“D’ya need to piss?”  
  
The voice was gruff but not unkind, and Bilbo wanted to ask for help, wanted to ask to be touched and wanted to ask _not_ to be touched, but he couldn’t manage to form even a single syllable. Instead he tried to curl up and make himself as small as possible, hoping to disappear entirely until things started to make sense again. Until the world would stop hurting.  
  
The person crouched beside him sighed. “’m sorry about this, it wasn’t meant to be like-“ the voice trailed off into a new sigh. “You did a good job helping to get the mountain back. Sounds like it anyway. I’m I sure the King’s not really a bad bloke. Nobles.” There was a snort. “But business is business. You need to drink though, if you’re not pissing.”  
  
Bilbo tried to speak again but only managed to cough, and then when he was pulled up to sit and got more water it went down the wrong way and only brought on more coughing.  
  
Being touched hurt, but being slapped on the back _really_ hurt.  
  
Whimpering Bilbo backed up against his corner, the cold stone against his back a low dull ache, but it drowned out the sharp sting of the hand before so he pressed himself against the wall, wanting to disappear into it.  
  
“You’re not going to remember this anyway,” the voice said, and it sounded comforting. A rough clumsy hand patted him on the head, and Bilbo didn't have the strength left to protest the touch. “That’s what Delen says. Good for us, good for you. But even if you do remember something. Well, that’s what the blindfold is for. But I think… a little more of the potion won’t hurt. ‘s better for all of us if you sleep as much as possible.”  
  
However instead of trying to make him drink anything more the voice put the blanket over Bilbo and then left.  
  
When the inky darkness got even darker and began to spin, began to drag him under Bilbo was hit by a realisation, but he barely had enough time to finish the thought before he tumbled over the cliff into unconsciousness.  
  
No need to make him drink the strange liquid because it had already been in the water.  
  
-  
  
Hours, days, weeks- Bilbo didn’t know how much time had passed by his blanket was ripped away and a boot-clad foot nudged his back.  
  
Bilbo convinced his tired muscles to curl up even tighter, biting his lip until it hurt because that hurt still felt better than the wrongness of the other touch.

“Change of plans,” a cold voice said as Bilbo’s arm was grabbed.

Bilbo’s hands were quickly tied behind his back and his feet were trussed together. The rope itched something fierce and Bilbo tried to tell them it wasn’t necessary, that he couldn’t even imagine standing up, let alone walking somewhere, but he still couldn’t make himself speak properly.  
  
“Pl-please…” he whispered. Voice cracking on even that small word.  
  
"Not long now.” Someone patted him on his hip, stroking up his side uncaring of Bilbo’s shudders and low moans of protest. “Wish I could take you with me, I’m sure we could have fun together, but I’d like to get paid you see.”

“Right, I’ve had enough.”  
  
The burning touch went away and instead there was the sound of a scuffle, a scuffle that ended with a gurgling sound. No, with the sound of something large and heavy hitting the ground just in front of Bilbo.  
  
“Was that _really_ necessary?” The person speaking didn’t sound too upset though.  
  
“Did you hear him? _Disgusting_. Valar only knows what he’d done to the Hobbit if he’d been alone. Or what he’s done to others. _Our_ kind.”  
  
“Yeah. There’s been talk…”

“See, good riddance. ‘Sides, now his share will go to us instead. Can’t pay a corpse. But that's good coin for us.”  
  
There was a low chuckle. “True. But _you_ get the honour of carrying him out of here. Can’t leave him, in case someone knows him. Don’t need anyone tracing him to us. Need to wrap him up in something or he’s going to drip blood all over the place. Bad enough that Oakenshield’s dogs are already beginning to sniff a little too close to this place.”  
  
“I know, I know. Not getting killed for some lousy noble’s sake, and not for their gold either. Right, we need to bring everything.”  
  
“Yeah, we don’t want the -“ and here Bilbo’s mind decided that this was a good time to go someplace else again. Somewhere quiet and dark and where nothing hurt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter we'll hop over to see how Thorin is doing.
> 
> And look! ART :D
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> [lafe-art.tumblr](http://lafe-art.tumblr.com/post/118958340872/whispers-in-the-dark-by-alkjira-bilbo-agreed-to)
> 
>  


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“Thorin, wait!” Nori hissed at him as he caught up, Dwalin not far behind. “Wait. We can’t just run straight into-“_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please make sure to go back to the last chapter and check out the awesome art by la fe!
> 
> No warnings as such, but assumptions are made and conclusions are drawn based on what our Dwarfs find and it's not a pretty picture.

Thorin was frantic as he ran down the hallways that lay deep beneath the normally used levels of the mountain. It had been three days since Bilbo had been taken and Thorin hadn’t slept more than a few hours all together during that time but he wouldn’t, _couldn’t_ let that be a factor now.  
  
His leg; damaged in the battle outside Erebor’s gates and still not entire healed, twinged with each step, and so did the wound in his side, but those things were not important either. Not when there was a chance that they’d get Bilbo back.  
  
Despite what the letter they’d found in the library said they’d known all along that Bilbo couldn’t have been taken from Erebor. There’d been no tracks in the snow, and the guards at the gates said that they hadn’t seen anyone come or go all morning.

During the winter there was little reason to go outside on the days when the wind howled and the snow fell so anyone leaving would have been noted, especially since they had to go via the main gates.  
  
And everything else aside Thorin had been with Bilbo just shortly before he had to have been taken. Ori had found the letter less than an hour after Thorin had spoken with Bilbo. _If_ they had somehow managed to leave the mountain after all they would not have had time to go far, and Thorin had sent scouts in all directions, just to be safe, but they’d found nothing.  
  
Thorin knew it was a trick to stop them from looking, or to cause them to look in the wrong places, and he had not fallen for it. Even though riders searched the outside there had been more discrete activities happening inside the mountain as well. But they had also been unsuccessful, until now.  
  
During the last three days Thorin had asked himself so many times why he’d left Bilbo alone on the battlements. Why he’d not stayed and talked with him, gone with him to breakfast, or to the library as it seemed that’s where Bilbo had ended up. And Thorin always arrived at the same answer; he hadn’t stayed because he was a _coward_.  
  
He knew that if he spent too much time talking with Bilbo he’d end up begging him to stay, and Thorin couldn’t do that. He couldn’t ask anything else from their Hobbit, not after what he’d already asked, not after what had already happened.  
  
Bilbo had left his home, risked his life over and over again, and what did he have to show for it? Nothing. Not even the share of the treasure he’d been promised as Bilbo so far had turned down everything Thorin had offered. He didn’t want gold, nor jewels nor gems. Nothing. Except… except the mithril shirt.

He had accepted the shirt, though Thorin suspected that Bilbo would have turned I down had he known exactly how beyond priceless most would consider it to be.  
  
If- _when,_ Bilbo left Thorin would need to make sure that he took it with him. Thorin had intended for that shirt to carry so much meaning, for it to be a promise. But now, when such things were no longer possible, (if they had ever been) it could at least be protection for someone who’s value was a thousandth that of all the mithril in the world. And Thorin’s heart would be a little lighter for it.  
  
Perhaps it could protect Bilbo when Thorin had failed.  
  
It wasn’t Bilbo’s fault that Thorin had fallen in love with him.

It wasn’t Bilbo’s fault that Thorin had apparently been bad enough at hiding his feelings to make Bilbo a target for people not satisfied with how Erebor was being ruled.  
  
Bilbo probably knew of Thorin’s feelings as well, that was likely the reason he’d grown more distant lately, something Thorin wanted to respect. But it was hard as he wanted nothing more than to spend as many hours of each day as possible with his- with Bilbo.  
  
But it wasn’t- he didn’t want to make the situation any more uncomfortable for Bilbo than it already was, and he didn’t want to _hear_ Bilbo say that he’d be leaving with Gandalf in the spring as planned, no, of course he didn’t return Thorin’s feelings, how could Thorin had ever thought he'd do something so _preposterous_ -

It was of course Bilbo’s right to feel that way, but Thorin didn’t want to hear it. He didn't know if he could bear to hear it.  
  
And besides all that he’d seen the flinch that Bilbo had tried to hide up on the battlements, and it had hurt almost as much as Azog’s blade had.  
  
Only now he wished he’d stayed with Bilbo nonetheless.  
  
He’d gone out to the battlements every morning for the last week hoping to find Bilbo there. And when he finally had, what did he do? Frighten him and then leave him alone to be kidnapped.

It was all his fault that Bilbo had been taken. Thorin was the reason for it, and he'd not managed to stop it. He was twice at fault.  
  
“Thorin, wait!” Nori hissed at him as he caught up, Dwalin not far behind. “ _Wait_. We can’t just run straight into-“  
  
“We can,” Thorin said shortly and pulled his arm from Nori’s grasp. “I need to-“  
  
“We need to get Bilbo back, safe and sound,” Nori said and fisted his hands into Thorin’s tunic. “And I’m sure we don’t want a repeat of a certain scenario involving Trolls as that has the potential for Bilbo to get very hurt indeed, and us as well.”  
  
Thorin hesitated. It was Nori’s information that had led them here. Rumours that voices had been heard from some of the old abandoned mines. Rumours of a Hobbit shaped bundle being carried in that same direction three days ago. And Nori had a point, as he often had.  
  
“We don’t know if he’s there at all yet, much less if he’s alone.” Nori’s grip on Thorin’s shirt loosened as he noticed that he had his attention. “So just- wait. Let me go first. That’s why I’m here and not a dozen soldiers. And if everything is all right I’ll call for you and Dwalin.”  
  
“And if everything is _not_ all right?” Dwalin asked, folding his arms across his chest.  
  
“Then people will very much regret it.” Nori smiled without it reaching his eyes. “It can't be too many involved with this, that would have made it impossible for them to hide. I can handle them.  They’ll not see me coming before it’s too late for them.”

The redhead nodded at Thorin and patted his arm, and without waiting for a reply he slipped away into the shadows ahead of them.

For a while Thorin and Dwalin stood silent together in the dark tunnel, only lit by the faint light of torches in the distance and the candle Dwalin had brought.  
  
“When this is over with you need to tell Bilbo how you-“  
  
“Not now, Dwalin.”  
  
“When?” Dwalin demanded. “You can’t keep doing this to yourself. And not to-”  
  
“Not _now_.”  
  
“I’ll tell him for you, if you won’t.”  
  
Thorin glared at his oldest friend. “You’ll do no such thing.”  
  
“I will,” Dwalin said and glared right back at him. “What’s the worst thing that could happen? If he tells you no then you’ll have the same as you have now. And if he says yes-“  
  
“I’ll not have the same,” Thorin all but spat. “It could ruin our friendsh-“  
  
“Bilbo wouldn’t let it. Thorin-“ Dwalin took a step closer. “What the both of you are doing now, that’s what’s going to ru-“

“ _Thorin_! _Dwalin_!”  
  
They ran.  
  
-  
  
Thorin felt cold inside. Colder than he’d been up on Ravenhill lying on the ice in a pool of his own blood. At that moment, even without knowing if he’d live or die, he’d still been at peace because Bilbo had been with him. Bilbo had been unhurt. Bilbo had forgiven him. Any of those things had been more than Thorin could ever have asked for but he'd had all of them.  
  
The present was not as kind.  
  
Nori had Bilbo cradled in his lap; Bilbo’s face pressed against Nori’s chest. It wasn’t possible to say if the Hobbit was sleeping or unconscious or-. But likely unconscious. Or he’d surely have stirred when Nori called for them.  
  
Thorin viciously shoved the explanation for why Bilbo wouldn’t have stirred away in a dark corner of his of his mind.

What Thorin could see of Bilbo’s skin was either pale as moonlight or streaked black with smudges of dirt and coal; the skin covered by the blanket draped over him was sure to be more of the same. The normally honey-coloured curls were hanging limply, turned grey from dirt and dust.  
  
Dwalin had found a torch and lit it, and he stopped in the door to make sure no unwelcome guests snuck up on them. Thorin could faintly hear him cursing up a flood beneath his breath.  
  
“Thorin, he’s-“ Thorin froze at the tone of Nori’s voice. He’d never heard the thief sound like that before.  
  
“Is he dead?” Dwalin asked before Thorin could manage to make himself bear the weight of that same thought.  
  
Nori shook his head. “No, no he’s breathing.” A tear trailed down Nori’s cheek, glinting in the light from the torch and he lowered his head for a moment. When he raised it to look up at Thorin the king was taken aback at the rage he found.

“Someone raped him,” Nori snarled.  
  
Time appeared to stop.  
  
“He wasn’t underneath the blanket when I came in. He was bound hands and feet, entirely naked. And when I cut him loose - There’s a bit of dried blood down the inside of his thigh. A streak on his arse. And dried… “Nori took a deep breath. “Dried semen. On him. On the floor. There’s blood on the floor too. A fair amount. But I looked him over waiting for you to get here and I don’t think that’s his. No cuts, nothing like that.“

If Thorin had been cold before his insides were now a cave of ice.

He staggered forward and crashed down to his knees in front of Bilbo. Dwalin was cursing again, but it seemed as if the sound was coming from somewhere far, far away.  
  
“Bilbo…”  
  
As if he’d heard, Bilbo began to squirm, and Nori had to tighten his grip on him to stop him from tumbling to the ground.  
  
“Please… no. Don’t- don’t touch me.” The small whine cracked the ice around Thorin’s heart. “It’ll hurt.” And the ice splintered into a myriad of sharp shards, forcing Thorin’s breath from his lungs.  
  
“Bilbo-“ Thorin said, no louder than a whisper, but the Hobbit stilled.  
  
“Thorin?”

“Yes, it’s Thorin,” Nori said when Thorin couldn’t find his voice. “Say something,” he added in a hiss, trying to find a way to keep Bilbo from falling to the ground without injuring him, and- Thorin realised – making sure that Bilbo’s backside did not come in contact with the hard stone.  
  
The Hobbit struggled and twisted, not letting himself be calmed by Nori, not until glassy eyes locked with Thorin’s, squinting up at him in the dark. Hobbits did not fare as well in darkness as Dwarfs did, but Thorin was not about to call Dwalin over with the torch. He still had no words. Except-

“Bilbo.”  
  
It appeared to be the only word left in the world.

“It _is_ you,” Bilbo breathed, and Thorin was only just able to get his arms up in time to catch his Hobbit when he launched himself from Nori arms and into Thorin’s lap instead.

He didn’t seem to notice when Nori gently tried to wrap the blanket around him again, but as Thorin stroked his hand down the bare skin of Bilbo’s back – it was a reflex, a desire to make sure he was real, that he was safe –Bilbo stiffened. Of course he did.  
  
Thorin immediately moved his hand higher, but before he could apologise-

“It- doesn’t hurt?” Bilbo’s eyes couldn’t quite focus when they looked up at Thorin. “It doesn’t. It doesn’t hurt.”

“We should leave,” Dwalin growled from his place at the door. “Just in case someone’s coming back. If anyone’s here they’d heard us by now. I’ll make sure someone watches this place. Goes through it. But Bilbo shouldn’t-”  
  
“Bilbo should _never_ have been here in the first place,” Thorin said tightly, flinching when Bilbo made a small distraught sound.

“I’m s-sorry,” Bilbo murmured. “Didn’t mean to-“  
  
“I’ll kill them,” Nori said, now calm again but as pale as wax. “I’ll find them and I’ll kill them. Dwalin, take Thorin and Bilbo and go. Protect them. I’ll stay here until you send someone. And if anyone comes back-“ A flash of white teeth. “They’ll only going to stay alive long enough to tell me where to find their friends.”  
  
Thorin stood up and Bilbo made a  noise high in his throat, his arms tightened around Thorin's neck.  
  
"Thorin?"  
  
"Shh," Thorin whispered, making sure his hold on Bilbo was tight enough not to drop him if he struggled, but not tight enough to hurt him. "It's all right. We're leaving now."  
  
"I want to go home."  
  
Thorin had to close his eyes as the small whisper shattered the rest of his heart.  
  
"Wait. One moment," Nori said. "Bilbo, the blood on the floor? We need to know if they've kept more people here, " he added for Thorin's benefit when the King narrowed his eyes. "People like Bilbo.” His voice softened when he turned back to their Hobbit and Thorin imagined that this was how Nori had talked to Ori when the scribe was still a child. “Bilbo, who did the blood on the floor belong to?"  
  
It took some time for Bilbo to answer. Long enough that Thorin thought that he might have fallen unconscious again and he was just about to take Bilbo and head for Óin when-  
  
"They killed someone." The words were barely louder than a breath, and Thorin felt small fingers work their way into his hair, holding on tightly.

"Do you know who?" Nori asked, holding his hand up to Thorin when the King glared daggers at him.  
  
"Someone who touched me.” Bilbo hid his face against Thorin’s neck. “They touched me and it _hurt_."  
  
"We're going now," Thorin said shortly, making sure the blanket was securely wrapped around Bilbo, fighting with his instincts that told him to tighten his own grip on Bilbo and never let him go. "Any other questions can wait."  
  
"Yes," Nori agreed, his expression grim. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art by [drakyrna-art.tumblr.com/](http://drakyrna-art.tumblr.com/)
> 
> And by [m-sock.tumblr.com/](http://m-sock.tumblr.com/)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“If he goes back to the Shire he would be safe.”_

"Ask him to stay."  
  
Thorin shook his head without turning to look at Balin. "How could he ever think about- he will never want- I _can't_ ask him to stay here."  
  
Thorin couldn't even begin to imagine that Erebor could ever be a home to Bilbo after this. Bilbo had already been planning to go back to the Shire, back to _his_ home amongst green hills, back his books, his armchair, back to the place where he belonged. If what had happened between them before wasn’t bad enough then what had happened now would surely remove any notion of staying for longer than the winter from Bilbo’s mind for good.

Erebor was Thorin’s home, the impossible dream that had come true, but for Bilbo the mountain and everything associated with it was nothing more than one horrible experience after the other.  
  
Thorin bit the inside of his cheek, revelling in the small hurt. What had happened between him and Bilbo before the battle had been his fault, all of it. If he’d just been able to control-  
  
Balin sighed and reached out to put his hand on Thorin’s shoulder, and Thorin almost flinched as he’d been so lost in thought to almost forget that Balin was in the room with him.  
  
"He trusts you, Thorin. What happened before didn’t change that. You know as well as I do that the two of you reconciled. And now… Dwalin told me that he didn't mind you touching him, that he even sought you out."  
  
Thorin stared aghast at his oldest friend who harrumphed.  
  
"Of course I didn't mean it like that. Just that he wasn't afraid of you. It’s important that he won’t isolate himself after something like this.” Balin’s expression softened and he gave Thorin's shoulder a squeeze. “We won’t know exactly what happened until we’ve spoken to him, but I think I know enough to say that it’ll be _very_ important that he’ll have people around that he feels safe with. You're one of those people, Thorin. And you love him, do you not?"  
  
"I do," Thorin murmured, eyes fixed on Bilbo's soft curls, the only part of him still visible as he’d manage to almost disappear underneath the blankets that covered the bed.  
  
As Óin had checked on Bilbo, Thorin had tried to brush away most of the dust from his hair; wanting to do something, _anything,_ that would perhaps make Bilbo feel a little better, and now the dancing light from the fireplace turned the curls a dark copper.  
  
Thorin wanted so badly to reach out and run his fingers through them. Lean forward and bury his face in them. Learn the scent of them and hide that knowledge away to never be forgotten. And he hated that he could think of such deeply selfish desires in a time like this.  
  
As he’d brushed Bilbo’s hair he’d thought about nothing except to get him more comfortable. Bilbo so enjoyed being clean and properly put together. Thorin knew that he would not have been pleased to wake up and find himself a mess. Which was also why Thorin hadn't protested when Óin had declared that he'd clean Bilbo up a little before anyone put him to bed.  
  
The protest had been on the tip of his tongue. It had felt wrong that anyone would touch Bilbo, would touch him again without his consent, without his knowledge, but to let Bilbo wake up still covered in the tangible evidence of what had happened... Thorin couldn't imagine that it would make help either.  
  
And as Óin had gently washed away the worst of the filth on Bilbo’s body with a wet cloth Thorin had averted his eyes, not being able to leave; to remove himself from Bilbo's presence would have been like cutting out his own heart, but still giving what privacy that he was capable of.

He knew what had happened, he _knew._ And it was his fault that Bilbo had been taken.Thorin knew that too. But what sort of person did it make him that he knew those things and still could just barely restrain himself and keep from reaching out for the still sleeping Hobbit.  
  
Thorin realised that he was clenching his fists hard enough to cause a dull ache in his hands and with great effort he managed to relax them.  
  
How he had longed to have Bilbo in his bed, but not like this. Never like this.  
  
He’d never do anything to Bilbo that he might not want. Not again. _Never_ again. And no one else would either as long as Thorin could still draw breath. That he did swear. But even so he was weak, and Bilbo forgave much too easily.  
  
"He shouldn't trust me."  
  
"But he does,” Balin said. “I’d bet my life on it. And I think he'll need to feel as if he belongs somewhere." The white-haired Dwarf sighed. "Even before this, he's been more quiet than usual. I do believe he misses you. He talks about you a lot."  
  
“He- talks to you?” Thorin cut himself off before he could add 'About _me_?'  
  
Balin laughed softly. "Of course. You’re not the only one who would call him friend, Thorin. There’re plenty of people here who wish to see him happy. I’m not going to divulge anything said in confidence, but he _has_ been asking me what the summers in Erebor are like. And to me it's sounded as if he wanted to see it for himself. And if he stays for the summer..." Balin shrugged. "Autumn is not a good time of year to start a journey. Nor is winter. And if he stays another year perhaps this can become a home."

Balin stood up but left his hand on Thorin's shoulder.  
  
"I think I'd best go and talk to said friends of his before they come breaking down the doors. But if he wakes up, just tell him that he is free to stay however long he wants. Let him make his own choices, whatever they may be. Especially after what’s happened. If he wants to leave then we’ll help him. Dwalin and I could travel with him to the Shire, we'd keep him safe. But if he wants to stay-“  
  
"He was a target now, when there are but rumours and friendship between us.”  
  
Thorin looked down into his lap, at his folded hands. He would never forget the contents of the letter that had been left for him in the library, and the final line.  
  
_'Actions can have unintended consequences.'_  
  
Such a simple sentence, far too simple for the way it had sent ice racing through Thorin's veins.

The letter had explained how there were people who were not happy with how Thorin allowed any and all Dwarfs to settle in Erebor, instead of first waiting for the those who had once lived in Erebor to come back and have their pick of the living quarters. They were also displeased with the agreements he’d made with Bard and with the Elves. And how Thorin chose to honour a simple Halfling over his own kind.  
  
And for these actions, _his_ actions, they’d chosen to try and make an example out of someone entirely innocent. Someone whose only fault and failure was that his heart was big enough that he’d agree to help reclaim the home for those who had none.  
  
"As you say, he's _already_ a target,” Balin said quietly. “If he's your consort he'll be better protected than if he's merely your former burglar. Anything done to him will be as if it’s done against you. And to make myself entirely clear even if I fear I'm overstepping, I think he returns your feelings."  
  
Thorin lifted his head to stare up at Balin with disbelief.  
  
"Has he said-"  
  
"No." Balin shook his head. "He’s not said as much, but that’s what I think. However the truth of that can't come from anyone but him. And after what's happened-"  
  
“I’d never-“ Thorin’s face twisted as pain, rage and regret all struggled inside of him. “-touch him, not if I was not wanted.”  
  
“I know, I know.” Balin leaned down and gently knocked his head against Thorin’s. “And despite what you may think, I think Bilbo would say exactly the same. He trusts you Thorin. I think he’s always trusted you.”  
  
Thorin allowed himself to lean against Balin, if only for a moment. “If he goes back to the Shire he would be safe.”  
  
“And if we'd stayed in Ered Luin we'd have been safe. Just let him decide that for himself,” Balin sighed, patting Thorin on the arm. “Whatever he wants we’ll make it happen.”

-  
  
Balin had only just shut the door behind himself when Bilbo stirred. For a moment Thorin thought ( _hoped_ ) that Bilbo had heard everything, that way the decision would be out of his hands, he would only need to wait for Bilbo's judgement.  
  
But not so.  
  
"No, no, no, no."  
  
"Bilbo.” Thorin leaned closer to the bed. “Bilbo, wake up."  
  
"Thorin?" Bilbo sat up, just barely avoiding to knock his head into Thorin’s. The Hobbit’s eyes were wide open, but it took a few long moments before awareness returned to them; before it replaced the terror that made sharp knives of regret slash at Thorin’s insides. “Thorin? What-“  
  
"You're safe,” Thorin promised, hands still clasped together in his lap, again hard enough to ache and make his knuckles white. “You’re safe,” he said again.  
  
"What's happened?” Bilbo blinked and looked around. “I remember- where- I was in the library? This- did I get sick? But this isn’t my bedroom?”

A hot flush crept its way up Thorin’s neck, _shame_ , not embarrassment. “You are in my chambers. It was... safer that way." True, and also closer to the Halls of Healing, but it was also incredibly selfish of him. Of course Bilbo would want to wake up somewhere more familiar.  
  
Would he have taken Bilbo here if he hadn’t been in love with him? Likely not. Which meant that despite his intentions he was still putting his own wishes before Bilbo’s well being.  
  
"Thorin, what is going on?" The bewilderment was evident in Bilbo’s voice. “I don’t understand.”  
  
Thorin desperately wanted to hang his head and let his hair shield him from Bilbo’s clear questioning gaze, but he refused to be a coward once again. "You were taken from us. Three days ago. But you're safe now."  
  
For a moment Bilbo remained as he was, and the only sound in the room was from the fire and Thorin’s own heart, which he felt surely must beat loudly enough to carry across the bed to Bilbo.  
  
"I remember… It was dark,” Bilbo said slowly. “And it- it hurt when they touched me? Oh- They _drugged_ me." Bilbo sounded more outraged than scared. "In the library. That’s why- They  _abducted_  me? Why would-"  
  
"It was my fault, and I'm more sorry than words can express." Now Thorin lowered his gaze, fixing it on the smudge of a bruise on Bilbo’s jaw. It made him want to tear the ones who had dared lay their hand on his Hobbit limb from limb. And at the same time the thought made him loathe himself for thinking that Bilbo was in any way his in the first place.

The following silence weighed heavy on Thorin's shoulders, and he braced himself for the accusations that would come, the proof that Bilbo would never trust him again.  
  
"It's hardly your fault."  
  
“What?” Thorin snapped his head up, startled blue eyes locking with confused hazel.  
  
“Well, obviously it wasn’t your fault?” Bilbo's hands lifted from the blankets to gesture between himself and Thorin. “I'm not sure what happened, but I know you'd never kidnap me. Be honest though, since I'm wearing something that's not mine I assume this is another set of clothes that I've seen for the last time?" The Hobbit sighed. "I quite liked those trousers. Unless whatever happened to them can be fixed? Dori is-"  
  
Thorin must have made a noise of some sort because Bilbo cut himself off to look at him, his eyes now filled with concern. "Which is not important. The clothes that is. But I seem to have made it back in one piece so all in all-“

"Marry me."  
  
After the words had been said it was hard to say which one of the two people on the bed who was more shocked

Art by [m-sock.tumblr.com](http://m-sock.tumblr.com/)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *cackles and runs away from the cliffhanger* 
> 
> (Thorin, Balin said to ask him to *stay*, that is not the proper way of doing that)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Marry you?” Bilbo echoed, thinking that if he repeated the words they might make more sense this time around._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we're back to seeing what Bilbo thinks of this.

Bilbo was dreaming. He _had_ to be dreaming. He was asleep in the library, hopefully not drooling on anything important, and nothing that had happened after he’d entered the library had actually happened. That was the explanation that made the most sense.  
  
He’d wake up and go and have breakfast, and then second breakfast as well because now that Bilbo thought about it he realised that he was very hungry indeed.  
  
The explanation that made the second most sense was that he had in fact been kidnapped, and whatever it was his abductors had given him was causing some very strange dreams indeed.  
  
Bilbo shivered. He didn’t particularly want that to be true, the bit about having been kidnapped, but unfortunately he had an inkling suspicion that it was true. Still, no need to jump to any conclusions.  
  
Most of what he could remember was all together unpleasant, but it did feel like a dream. Admittedly a bad one, but still a dream. So perhaps it was in fact a dream. Well, nightmare. And now he was having a dream in that nightmare. Right. Because why not?

Looking around Bilbo tried to make sense of what he was seeing. He was in Thorin’s bed. Wearing- wearing what by all accounts had to be one of Thorin’s night shirts. He was warm, he was comfortable; Thorin had a fire going and the bed was very soft, and the only one in the room was Thorin. Which was not that strange as it was his bedroom.  
  
No, what was strange was that Thorin had just _proposed_.  
  
Yes, a dream seemed a lot more likely all things considered and if Bilbo woke up to discover that he was still kidnapped he was going to be incredibly put out.

But it didn’t _feel_ like a dream. The being kidnapped bit, that felt like a dream, this... not so much.  
  
Not to say that he hadn’t had… similar dreams. A few times. Only in those Thorin hadn’t asked him to marry him as much as he’d crawled into the bed with him, all smiling eyes and-  
  
And that was quite enough of that line of thought or things would get very embarrassing very quickly.  
  
Still, it _didn’t_ feel like a dream. Bilbo could see everything clearly, hear his own heart tick away in his chest, feel the softness of the sheets below and the slightly more scratchy texture of the blankets on top of him. He could even smell Thorin, all around him. Not that strange since this had to be his bed, but Bilbo couldn’t even remember smelling _anything_ in a dream before, much less Thorin.  
  
"Marry you?” Bilbo echoed, thinking that if he repeated the words they might make more sense this time around. Only they didn’t. “ _Why_?"

Thorin had seemed upset with him that morning. No wait, not that morning. Three days? Had it really been three days? That would at least explain why he was so hungry, but even if it had been three days, what on Arda could have happened to make Thorin think that they should-  
_  
'Shhh, no reason to be alarmed.’_

_‘-not his fault Thorin Oakenshield is an unreasonable bastard.’_

_‘Right, I’ve had enough.’_  
  
And then.  
  
‘ _Bilbo_.’

Thorin’s voice. Even as he’d gone to him Bilbo had been afraid that it would hurt. Because it had hurt… before. With the others. But it didn't hurt. It was Thorin, and he was big and warm and safe and it didn't hurt. Of course it didn’t, because Thorin wouldn’t hurt him.  
  
“Oh,” Bilbo said, closing his eyes raising his hand to his head when a new wave of memories flooded back,

Thorin was speaking but Bilbo couldn’t focus enough to listen to him; too busy trying to make sense of the bits and pieces that tried to fit themselves into a bigger picture. Most of the memories were terribly fuzzy around the edges, some with great chunks missing, but when Bilbo opened his eyes again to look at Thorin he did remember more than he’d done just after waking up. It hadn't been a dream.  
  
“They killed someone. The one who wouldn’t stop touching me. And they took my clothes? Before that I mean.”  
  
He would truly miss those trousers.

“I’m so sorry.”  
  
The Hobbit shivered. Thorin's voice was empty of any emotion. He sounded… even after the battle he’d sounded more alive.

Clearly this was not the time and place to be concerned with trousers and Bilbo squirmed to sit up straight, wincing when a muscle in his lower back did not at all support this plan. It was just a tiny annoying hurt, and Bilbo couldn’t comprehend why the colour drained from Thorin’s face.  
  
"The people who took you thought that we are lovers," he said dully. "They wanted to punish me by hurting you. To teach me a lesson."  
  
" _Lovers_?" Bilbo asked and Thorin's head slowly moved up and down in a nod but he wouldn't meet Bilbo’s eyes. And the way he sounded... It was as if someone had died. And that someone might even have been Thorin himself  as all life appeared to have been drained from his voice.   
  
It was flat, tired, so unlike Thorin’s real voice that Bilbo would hardly have believed it was him speaking if he’d not been able to see him sitting there with his own two eyes.

Thorin’s voice… it was possible that Thorin’s voice had played a little too large part in Bilbo’s decision to join the adventure for it to be entirely sensible.

As he’d tried to fall asleep that night in Bag End, thirteen Dwarfs and a Wizard beneath his roof, it had been Thorin’s voice he’d heard as his eyelids had grown more and more heavy. Thorin had been humming the same song as before, and the melody had seemed to fill every nook and cranny of Bag End. There’d been so much longing, so much emotion in his voice that something inside Bilbo had felt that he _had_ to agree to help him reclaim that lost home. It was not the only reason he’d left, but it was definitely part of it.

Only now… now Thorin sounded as if he’d aged a hundred years since that day.  
  
"If you could find it within yourself to stay in Erebor please know that you will always have a home here. With me if you so wish it. We would not need to share the same bed. You can even keep your own rooms. If you need to leave I could- I could come with you. Balin has also offered himself and Dwalin to-"  
  
"I don't understand what is happening." Bilbo plucked at the edges of his blanket, to restless to remain still. “You’re the king, you can’t leave Erebor. And do Balin and Dwalin wish to marry me as well?”  
  
“What?” Finally, Thorin looked at him again, pale eyes widening with some emotion that Bilbo wasn’t able to name. “No, I- no, I’m only offering on my own behalf.”  
  
It was not a happy emotion thought. Thorin didn't look happy at all. He looked to almost be in pain. And as Bilbo had already concluded he sounded less enthused than he’d been whilst lying on ice and rock and losing entirely too much blood.  
  
So why would he offer to marry someone without looking the least bit pleased about it…

Did- did he know?  
  
Bilbo’s eyes widened. Had he said something to Thorin that he couldn’t remember? Something that might be enough to cause him to propose out of _guilt_?  
  
Was that why he was looking like someone had died? Sure, being kidnapped hadn’t been _fun_ , but being almost eaten by Trolls hadn’t been fun either and that hadn’t caused Thorin to propose. Then again, Thorin had hardly felt personally responsible for, and he hadn’t known that Bilbo was in love with him. Not that he _had_ been in love at the time, no, he’d just had a healthy appreciation for the way Thorin filled out a shirt, but-

“Bilbo?”

Thorin sounded… wary. Like he was expecting Bilbo to say something he wasn’t at all looking forward to hearing. Was he that certain that Bilbo would be foolish, or desperate, enough to agree to marry him? Marry someone who didn’t- who’d never- who didn't even want to share the same rooms as him?

“No, no,” Bilbo protested as he squirmed clear of his blankets. “This is not at all accept-“

No sooner had he put both feet on the floor before dark spots flashed before his eyes, blotting out everything else except for the buzzing white sound in his ears. When his knees turned into jelly Bilbo stumbled and fell, just barely avoiding to hit his head on Thorin’s side table.

The last thing he heard was Thorin calling his name, sounding as if he was shouting from beneath the surface of a lake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another cliffhanger! Who does the author think she is!?


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“I keep failing you,” Thorin rasped. “Over and over again.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the last chapter! (sneaking in a tiny bit of background Dwalin/Óin, just because. Blink and you miss it)
> 
> Alternating POVs in this.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Óin said. “While they’d gave him drink it seems they didn’t think to feed him. But his heart was strong before and still is, and it wasn’t like we could start shoving food down his throat when he was unconscious. He’ll be fine.”  
  
“If not for me he would not have tried to get out of bed,” Thorin said tightly and Óin hummed.  
  
“Get him to eat before you talk to him again then.” The healer’s expression softened when he saw the distressed look on his king’s face. “Thorin, lad, I’m not making fun of you. What has happened is terrible. It shouldn’t have happened. But do you think that it’s Bilbo’s fault?”  
  
“Of course not!” Thorin took a step closer to Óin, glaring down at him. “How _dare_ you-“  
  
“There you go,” Óin nodded, not bothered in the slightest by having Thorin looming over him. “It’s not your fault any more than it’s Bilbo’s. Neither of you are responsible for other people’s actions.“  
  
“I should have-“  
  
“What you should have done, what we all should have done, is pay more attention to him.” Óin frowned. “He’s much thinner than just a few days without food should have left him. I was going to mention this to you later and I guess later is now.”  
  
Bilbo had been so very small and light in his arms, but at the time Thorin hadn’t really thought about it, there’d been no other thought in his mind except to get Bilbo to safety. In addition to that, Bilbo had always appeared small to Thorin, not in spirit of course, but Thorin remembered the embrace on top of the Carrock, how easy it was to wrap himself around their burglar. But at the time he'd gotten distracted by how good it had felt when Bilbo's arms had wrapped around him in turn, and then by the sight of Erebor.  
  
“We all lost some weight during the quest,” Óin continued. “But it’s a small price to pay considering that it was all we lost, regardless of how much Bombur complains about it. It doesn’t have to be anything more than that. From now we’ll just keep an eye on him. When something like this happens it’s not unusual to-” Óin sighed. “Well, not unusual to not feel comfortable in your own skin. We’ll help him if that happens.”  
  
“And what if he leaves,” Thorin said quietly, the _us_ , or perhaps the _me_ , left unsaid.  
  
“You need to speak up,” Óin said, patting Thorin on the shoulder. The healer then hid a yawn behind his hand.  
  
“Go to bed,” Thorin said, instead of repeating himself . “There’s no reason for you to stay here now. I can send for you if it’s needed.”  
  
“Eh,” Óin said and shrugged. “It’s not like I’ll have company until Dwalin has been up for another day at least. He’s still looking for the ones who took Bilbo and he’ll not rest until he’s all but dead on his feet, or until he finds them."  
  
“That is no reason for you to do the same,” Thorin admonished.  
  
“Lad,” Óin said and smiled wryly at Thorin. “You’ve been up for three days. You’re not one to tell me that I need sleep. Or that Dwalin needs it.”  
  
“I can’t imagine sleeping now.” Thorin looked over his shoulder, at the half-open door leading into his bedroom. However it was a lie, because he could very well imagine being allowed to crawl beneath the blankets and join Bilbo. They’d shared a bed once, at the skinchanger’s house, and Thorin had gone to sleep with Bilbo an arm’s length away, Bilbo's soft, even breaths making the sweetest lullaby.

But that was before everything had changed.  
  
“He’s safe now,” Óin said, unknowingly repeating what Thorin had said earlier. “He’s sleeping again, so at least one of our number is getting some rest. If he’s not woken up in a couple of hours you should wake him and get him to eat something. Soup preferably as that’s going to be easy on his belly. And bread if he feels up to it.”

“I’ll send for soup,” Thorin promised and Óin nodded.  
  
“The others will want to see him. Bard’s been asking about him as well.”  
  
“Not yet,” Thorin shook his head. “I- not yet.”  
  
Óin raised a bushy eyebrow and tilted his head as if he’d misheard. “Shouldn’t that be Bilbo’s choice?”  
  
Thorin felt like banging his head against the nearest wall. He was doing it again. Making decisions that he had no right to make.  
  
“He should be in the Halls of Healing,” Thorin made himself say. “There is no reason for Bilbo to be here. I’ll post guards-“  
  
“You really don’t want me here?”  
  
They both turned to see Bilbo standing in the doorway, leaning rather heavily against the doorframe. Thorin's hands twitched at his sides and he just barely refrained from crossing the room and sweeping Bilbo up into his arms. He had no right to touch him and he’d do best to remember that.  
  
“Bilbo,” Óin said and smiled. “I didn’t hear you , but that’s not unusual. Good to have you back with us.”  
  
Thorin turned back to stare at Óin. How could he possibly sound so normal? As if nothing was out of the ordinary, as if they were just passing each other in a hallway after not speaking for a few days. As if Bilbo had been to Dale and not kidnapped and-

“How are you feeling?” Óin asked, and Bilbo glanced at Thorin before he looked back at the older Dwarf.  
  
“Fine.” Bilbo bit his bottom lip and his fingers tugged at the nightshirt. “Did I pass out again?”  
  
“Yes, and you should be in bed.” Thorin winced after finishing the sentence. “No, I’m sorry. It is of course your choice. But please, I don’t want you to fall and hurt yourself.”  
  
“I’ll arrange for soup to be sent up from the kitchens,” Óin said. “When was the last time _you_ ate, Thorin?”  
  
“I-“ Thorin had no idea. “I’m fine.”  
  
“Plenty of soup,” Óin mused as he headed for the door.

The sound of the door closing woke Thorin from his stupor and he realised that he’d just been standing there, staring at Bilbo for almost a full minute.  
  
“Please, sit down. There will be soup.”  
  
-  
  
“Soup sounds nice,” Bilbo said cautiously. It did sound nice, albeit in a more abstract way.  
  
He was still hungry, only this time when he’d woken up he’d felt a little queasy. And… waking up alone had honestly scared him a little, even though he’d been in a comfortable bed and not on a cold floor. And would it really be so impossible to have windows somewhere in this dratted mountain? What time of day was it anyway?  
  
When he’d heard Thorin’ and Óin’s voices he'd calmed down, but there was still something upset hiding in his stomach.  
  
As he took a step into the room Thorin swooped over to stand next to him, his hand hovering by Bilbo’s elbow. “May I?”  
  
“Um, sure?”  
  
The belief that this was actually a dream descended over Bilbo again as Thorin oh so gently curled his hand around Bilbo’s upper arm, helping him over to the closest armchair and watching attentively as Bilbo made himself comfortable.  
  
“Is it soft enough? Would you like a blanket? A pillow? If you’d like to go back to your own rooms I could-“  
  
“Thorin,” Bilbo interrupted. “I’m not saying that the last days have been _fun_ in any way, but it’s only been three days and I wasn’t even awake for most of it. I don’t even remember most of it. And again, three _days._ I was on the quest with you for almost half a _year_ , and you never once acted like this. Not after the Trolls, Goblins, Orcs, Spiders, the other Orcs, the other, _other_ Orcs…”  
  
Bilbo trailed off on a sigh. And not after Smaug either, but to bring that up would definitely not help. Bringing up anything that had happened after their arrival to Erebor and before the battle would likely just make Thorin leave, at least going by their success rate of that topic so far.  
  
“I said something to you, didn’t I?” he asked, looking up at Thorin who was still hovering in front of the chair. “And that’s why you’re acting like this. That’s why you… offered to marry me.” Looking away Bilbo turned his eyes down. “I’m sorry.”  
  
“Yes, that’s what you said.” And again all emotion was gone from Thorin’s voice. “When we found you. You said you were sorry, as if it was your fault that-“  
  
Bilbo’s eyes widened when Thorin’s voice cracked, and widened even further when Thorin dropped to his knees in front of him; hitting the floor with a dull thud that made Bilbo wince.  
  
“I keep failing you,” Thorin rasped. “Over and over again.”  
  
“Thorin it's all right.” Bilbo hand hovered just over Thorin’s head, over his shoulder, not quite daring to touch. He- he thought that it was possible that he’d not touched Thorin since that day on Ravenhill. At least not more than a handful times after that. It was as if there’d grown a wall between them, one that he wasn't sure how to climb over.  
  
“I promise, I’m fine. It's not even the worst thing that's happened to me.”

He had intended to be comforting, instead all the colour drained from Thorin’s face once again.  
  
“It- it's not?”  
  
Bilbo blinked at him. Perhaps he should have brought up Smaug after all. He’d been scared in the library, sure, but it was nothing compared to being face to face with a Dragon. And everything that had happened after he'd been taken still felt distant, like a dream. Unlike when Bilbo had seen the smoke and fire as Smaug destroyed Lake-town.  
  
“No,” Bilbo replied, shaking his head. “Not even close. One of them was even nice to-“  
  
“They _raped_ you,” Thorin snarled and Bilbo’s mind screeched to an abrupt halt. “One of them raped you, and I’m _glad_ they killed him. I would have done it myself if I had only-“  
  
“Wait, no, what?” Bilbo’s eyes were round with shock. “No, no. No one raped me.”  
  
“You don’t- you’ve forgotten it,” Thorin murmured, the rage gone as suddenly as it had come, guilt and despair flooding in to replace it. “That’s why- You _had_ forgotten it, and now I’ve reminded you.”  
  
“No,” Bilbo protested. “I’ve not forgotten it. Because nothing like that happ-“

_if you get it on him that'll only make it look more realistic_

_they asked us to **fake** **it.  
**  
You’re **not** to touch him_  
  
“You remember now,” Thorin said after Bilbo had been quiet for several long moments, lost in the memories swirling in his head. “I’ve made you remember.”  
  
The self-loathing in Thorin’s voice made Bilbo blink and look up, and- were those tears in Thorin’s eyes? “I don’t know why I ever thought-“ Thorin lowered his head. “Forgive me.”  
  
“Thorin, no one _raped_ me.”  
  
Under other circumstances Thorin’s flinch and the small squeaky noise he made _could_ have been amusing. But as things were, it was anything but.

“They-“ Bilbo shook his head. “I’m not sure what they wanted to be entirely honest. There _are_ things I don’t really remember, details that’s fuzzy around the edges. But no one… no one did that. I think they-“ Bilbo frowned. “They were paid to make it look that way? The drug… they thought it would put me to sleep. But it didn’t work out how they intended it to. They- only one of them wanted to do _that_. And-“ Bilbo shivered. “And they killed him.”  
  
-  
  
“The others- I’m not sure how many they were – they didn’t mean to hurt me. One of them gave me a blanket. The drug, it made my skin too sensitive… every touch hurt, but they just wanted me to sleep.”  
  
“When we found you,” Thorin began, barely louder than a whisper. “You were naked, there was streak of blood- and…” He swallowed heavily and blinked as his eyes stung. “Seed. On you. And- you mean that you’ve not been violated?”  
  
Bilbo’s eyes widened. “Well not like _that_. No one- not, _that_. So that’s what they meant when- Now I _really_ want a bath.”  
  
To Thorin’s shock and horror he found that a small chuckle made its way past his lips.  
  
It had been such an endearingly normal thing to hear. How many times on the quest hadn’t he heard Bilbo promise anything to anyone as long as he could have a good long soak in hot water.  
  
“It’s a perfectly reasonable demand,” Bilbo sniffed, again, looking so much like his normal self. If not for the anxious way his right hand kept tapping on his thigh, and how he was still wearing one of Thorin’s shirts, perhaps Thorin could have told himself that everything was all right. That everything was normal.  
  
“Thorin- you really thought I’d been…” Bilbo trailed off.  
  
Thorin nodded. “Are you-?”  
  
“Quite sure. They- for whatever reason they wanted to make it look like they had, but-“ Bilbo glanced away before meeting Thorin’s eyes again. “They didn’t. Nothing, um, hurts. Except my back, just a little. So there’s no need for you to marry me to make up for… things. I’m not- there is no need for you to feel guilty. I’m not.. damaged goods for you to-”  
  
“ _Damaged_?” Thorin said incredulously. “Even if someone would have taken you against your will it would not in any way diminish you. You would still be the same Hobbit I fell in love with. It wouldn’t-“

“Wait, what?”  
  
Thorin’s hand twitched with the desire to reach out and cover Bilbo’s as they fluttered confusedly before settling in his lap once more. Did Hobbits really have such a twisted view of things that Bilbo could not understand what he was saying? Thorin couldn’t believe that to be the case.

“What is done to you by other people could never change my opinion of-“

“No, wait. You, _love_ me?”

“Of course,” Thorin said, a sinking feeling growing in his stomach at the look on Bilbo’s face.

“No, no. Not ‘ _of course’_. Thorin, you’ve never _said_.“

The distress was evident in Bilbo’s voice and Thorin forced himself not to look away. “I asked you to marry me,” he said, as levelly as he could. As bravely as he could.

“Because you were feeling guilty!”

“No.”  
  
“Three days ago you would hardly speak with me,” Bilbo leaned forward in the chair. “You appeared not to even want to _look_ at me. And now- Thorin I swear, they did not rape me. Regardless of what _I_ might have said there’s no need for you to-“  
  
“I was out on the battlements that morning because I wished to speak with you.”  
  
“But you left!”  
  
“Because I had no right to ask anything of you,” Thorin said quietly. “Much less the right to beg you not to leave Erebor, me. And I feared that was what I would do. I did not think it was possible, but I have even less right to ask anything of you now. And still I-”  
  
They both started when someone knocked on the door.  
  
“Please,” Thorin said when Bilbo made to stand up. “Sit. That will be the soup.”  
  
-  
  
_Soup_ he said. As if that was in any way important.

Judging by Thorin's rapt attention when Bilbo ate each spoonful you'd think it was the most important thing he’d done so far that day.  
  
He’d insisted that Bilbo remain in the chair and had moved a table from across the room and put it next to him. Thorin had also refused to continue their talk before Bilbo ate at least some of the soup, standing on the other side of the table like a self-proclaimed Guardian of Soup. At least until Bilbo had pointed out that there were indeed more chairs in the room and Thorin might as well use one. Bilbo had also gotten him to have some of the bread, remembering that Thorin hadn’t been able to answer Óin on when was the last time he ate.  
  
Quite honestly, Bilbo could not ever remember being more confused. He no longer thought that he was dreaming. No, this had moved far beyond even the strange world of dreams.  
  
“There,” he said putting the spoon down in the empty bowl with soft clink, looking over the table at Thorin. “I’ve had soup. Can we please continue where we left off now?”  
  
“There’s more soup,” Thorin said, and Bilbo – with great effort – did not lose his temper.  
  
“Thorin, I don’t _want_ more soup.”  
  
This was a perfectly normal thing not to want. There was no reason for Thorin to look like Bilbo had done something terribly upsetting.  
  
It still made Bilbo feel guilty.  
  
Not quite guilty enough to eat more soup. It had been nice soup, mind. There was nothing wrong with it at all. He just didn’t want more of it. No, what he wanted was-  
  
“You- love me?” he asked, trying to _understand_.  
  
“Yes.” Thorin’s hand twitched a little where it rested on top of the table. “You do not need to worry. I won’t trouble you with it. If you- should you decide to stay in Erebor I will-“  
  
“I love you too,” Bilbo said, reaching out to put his hand on top of Thorin’s.  
  
-  
  
He must have misheard. Bilbo couldn’t have- Thorin had misunderstood.  
  
“I-“ Bilbo cleared his throat when Thorin didn’t say anything. “I must say I expected another reaction. Or any reaction. Not that you have to- but if you love _me_. And I love _you_. Then-“  
  
There it was again. How strange.  
  
“-if you didn’t mean it, that’s all right. Just- like I said, there’s no need for you to propose. Or well, saying things. Things that you don’t-“  
  
Could he really..? Was it possible?  
  
“-please say something? Thorin?”  
  
Bilbo moved his hand away, and it was the absence of that small, soft weight more than his words that snapped Thorin out of his daze.  
  
“ _Bilbo_ ,” Thorin rumbled.  
  
“Well, that’s certainly someth-“

Thorin stood up quickly enough that his chair tipped over. Then all it took was two steps and he was standing in front of Bilbo. As he dropped down to his knees Bilbo made a small concerned sound.  
  
“Your poor knees.”  
  
“Damn my knees.” Thorin did not take his eyes from Bilbo’s face. “You love me?”  
  
“Yes,” Bilbo nodded. “I do. But if you don’t feel the same that’s-“  
  
“I asked you to marry me,” Thorin said slowly. “I’ve told you about my feelings. Have failed you so deeply that you doubt my word that much?”  
  
“You haven’t failed me,” Bilbo protested. “And- well, sometimes people say things that they don’t really mean. And that can make things… awkward.”  
  
“Did you mean it?”  
  
“Of course I did.”  
  
“As did I.”

-  
  
The two of them looked at each other for a long moment before Bilbo slowly reached out and pushed some of Thorin’s hair behind a round ear. After he’d finished his task he couldn’t bear taking his hand away, so he slid it down to cup the side of Thorin’s face.

  
  
“I’d like to ask you for something,” the Hobbit murmured.  
  
“Anything,” Thorin promised, blue eyes for once entirely unguarded. It was strange. Bilbo had not even realised how much of himself Thorin kept locked away before he was shown _everything_.  
  
“I'd very much like a kiss.”  
  
The words hung between them like pearls of dew on a spider’s web. Even a small wrong move would make it all come crashing down. But when Bilbo slowly leaned forward, and Thorin tilted his head up, it was somehow all right.  
  
The kiss was lighter than even spider silk; barely even there, but few things in Bilbo’s life had carried such a weight.  
  
“Thank you,” he whispered, watching as Thorin's eyes fluttered open again. “I wish we’d done this three days ago. That morning on the battlements.”  
  
And just like that something in Thorin’s face closed itself off and he pulled back, though not far enough that Bilbo couldn’t keep his palm pressed to Thorin’s face.  
  
“I would not wish for something like this to take place somewhere that holds bad memories for both of us.”  
  
Bilbo thought about saying – again – that he’d long since forgiven Thorin, or that he didn’t even blame him to begin with – also not for the first time – but considering how that usually left them he opted not to.  
  
“But then we’d have new memories,” Bilbo argued instead, bringing his other hand up so he was holding Thorin’s head between the palms of his hands. “And instead of trying to forget we’d remember something else. Could we-“ he hesitated for a moment. “Could we pretend we’re there now? And that the last three days haven’t happened. And then you can ask what you wanted to ask.”  
  
“I have no right to ask,” Thorin lowered his eyes. “How could I ask you to stay after what has happened.”  
  
“Because you want me to stay.” When Thorin looked up Bilbo smiled at him. “That’s all it would take. Do you want me to stay?”  
  
Thorin reached up to cover one of Bilbo’s hands with his own. “I would not have asked you to marry me if I didn’t wish to have you by my side for the rest of our days.”  
  
“Then I’ll stay,” Bilbo said, leaning down for another kiss, revelling in the feel of Thorin’s lips against his own. “I’ve wanted to ask you if I could stay,” he whispered. “I was afraid that you’d say no. I thought, if I didn’t ask, and just stayed, then perhaps you’d not remember to ask when I would be leaving.”  
  
“What were you going to tell Gandalf when he came to take you home?” Thorin murmured.  
  
“That he can’t take me somewhere I already am.” Bilbo tilted his head until his forehead brushed against Thorin’s. “And home is wherever I’m with you.”

-  
  
“I want you to be safe.” Thorin gently squeezed Bilbo’s hand before tugging it down to rest between them, covering it with both of his. Bilbo’s hand seemed so impossibly small, it seemed strange that it would belong to someone so strong, so brave. “I meant everything I said before, I would follow you your Shire if that is what you wish. But if you stay I swear to you on my life that this will never happen again.”

“Um,” Bilbo hesitated and Thorin waited to see what his Hobbit would decide. “Could you perhaps swear on something else? I don’t… on your life sounds just a little too… ominous.”  
  
“I will do anything in my power to keep you safe,” Thorin promised. “The ones who took you will be caught and punished. And the ones who bought their services as well.”  
  
The kidnappers wouldn’t be killed, not if they hadn’t actually touched Bilbo beyond what he said.  
  
If they had been afraid of the possible consequences or if they had some semblance of conscience Thorin would not speculate about. It would not earn them much sympathy in the long run anyway, not when it seemed as if their plan had been to let Bilbo think that he’d been raped. Just because they'd not be put to death did it mean that their sentence would be a mild one.

Regarding the ones who’d ordered his abduction… Thorin would need to make examples out of them. The details of that was best left for another time.

“One of them _was_ quite nice to me,” Bilbo said and Thorin managed to bite his tongue before he said something he’d regret.  
  
“They will get the what they deserve,” he said instead. “They will not manage to hide themselves for very long. When you are feeling better-“  
  
“I said I was fine.”  
  
“If there’s anything else you remember that would be of help that information should be passed on to Nori or Dwalin.”  
  
“They were with you, right? When you found me?”  
  
Thorin nodded.  
  
“So they also think that I was-“ Bilbo tried to wave his hands, but since Thorin was still holding one of them it was not particularly successful. “Oh,” Bilbo said, looking down at the hand clasped between Thorin’s as if he’d just noticed the state of it.  
  
“If it is acceptable for you I will explain to them.”  
  
“Hmm?” Bilbo said, looking up from their clasped hands. “Oh, yes, that’s quite all right.” Pearly teeth pressed into a plush bottom lip for a moment as Bilbo seemed to be mulling something over. “Thorin, I want to stay here with you.”  
  
“You do not have to decide now.”  
  
Bilbo let out a small chuckle. “See, that’s the sort of thing that might make me believe that you don't want me to stay.”  
  
“I didn’t mean-“ Thorin sighed and bent to press a kiss to Bilbo’s hand. “Forgive me. I don't mean to say that you don't know your own mind.”  
  
“Nothing to- “ _Delen_!”  
  
“What?” Thorin lifted his head.  
  
“One of them was called Delen, I just remembered. The one that was nice- Don’t give me that look, they were nice for a _kidnapper_ , mentioned that name.”  
  
“Delen,” Thorin repeated and rose to his feet. “I will inform Nori of this, perhaps he will find it useful.”  
  
-

As Thorin took a step towards the door Bilbo’s stomach twisted.

“I don’t-“ Bilbo stopped himself, but not before Thorin had turned around.  
  
“What is wrong?”  
  
Fiddling with the hem of his shirt Bilbo shook his head. “Nothing.”  
  
“Bilbo, please tell me.”  
  
“You know, I’ve never heard you say please this many times before.”  
  
“Bilbo…” Thorin murmured, coming back to stand beside him. “I can see that something is wrong.”  
  
Letting out a sigh Bilbo shook his head. “I just- I know it’s silly. But I don’t want to be alone.” He tilted his head back to look up at Thorin and it was not very hard to smile when looking at someone as lovely as the Dwarf in front of him. “However that’s easily fixed. I’ll just come with you.”

Thorin leaned down and pressed a kiss to Bilbo’s forehead. “I can ask someone to bring Nori here. I’ll just be a moment. You should go back to bed.”

“I think I’ve slept enough. And if everyone thinks I was-“ Bilbo pressed his lips together. “I’d like to make sure they know I’m all right. Besides,” he added as he gently nudged Thorin to create space enough to get out of the chair. “It won’t be the first time I follow you. And I’ve never regretted it so far.”

For a moment Thorin was silent, and Bilbo waited to see if he’d insist on him going back t bed or not. But not so.  
  
“I love you, Bilbo Baggins, “ Thorin murmured, gently brushing some of Bilbo’s curls away from his face. “Even though I’m quite sure I don’t deserve you.”  
  
“And I love you,” Bilbo smiled. “And I think we both deserve another kiss, yes?”  
  
The smile stealing over Thorin’s lips was something Bilbo wanted to see more of, it changed him from lovely to so beautiful that Bilbo's heart skipped a beat.  
  
“You’re a marvel,” Thorin rumbled and Bilbo shook his head.  
  
“I’m a Baggins,” he corrected and stretched up as Thorin leaned down. Their third kiss was a little longer than the first two, and when they parted Bilbo felt quite tingly and a tiny bit dizzy.  
  
“If I look like I’m going to pass out again, will you catch me?” he asked, taking Thorin’s hand.  
  
Thorin winced. “Are you quite certain you don’t want to go back to bed?”  
  
“It’s a simple yes or no question,” Bilbo insisted and Thorin sighed and gently untangled their hands to instead wrap his arm around Bilbo’s waist.  
  
“I promise.”  
  
As they began to walk to the door Bilbo let out a quiet snicker. “I just realised that the expression ‘I’ve fallen for you’ have rarely been more apt.”  
  
Thorin’s arm tightened for a moment. “Please do not make jokes about you being unconscious.”  
  
“There you go with the please again, a Hobbit could get used to this.” A thought occurred to Bilbo just as Thorin reached for the door handle. There was one very important thing he’d forgotten to mention.  
  
“Thorin, what is your opinion when it comes to windows?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art by [drakyrna-art.tumblr.com/](http://drakyrna-art.tumblr.com/)

**Author's Note:**

> Story is finished and the last chapter will be posted on May 17th


End file.
